A Study of a Relationship in 100 Parts
by Pari Passu
Summary: My stab at the Fanfic 100 challenge. Rory and Logan in all their resplendent, functional dysfunctional glory. They range from drabble to one-shot, but are all meant to be snapshots of the same relationship.
1. coffee and bulletin boards

Title: coffee and bulletin boards  
Prompt: 001. beginnings  
Word Count: 146  
Rating: K+  
Summary: the beginning of it all.  
Author's Notes: I'm trying my hand at the Fanfic 100 project. This may not end well, but hopefully, it'll sort itself out well enough. And standard disclaimer (disclaiming all ownership of anything remotely connected to Gilmore Girls) applies from here on out.

* * *

001. coffee and bulletin boards

In hindsight she should have paid more attention to their initial encounters. She should have known from the instant that he casually dismissed her at the coffee kiosk that she would be drawn to him. Or even at the bulletin board at she posted the news of the wake. Yes, that exchange should have spelled it all out.

Men who were too accessible did nothing for her. Just look at the way her relationship with Dean had crashed and burned. Sweet and safe might as well have been predictable and boring.

Logan Huntzberger was decidedly neither. He used O'Brian against her in their first argument, for heaven's sake. She should have recognized her hectic pulse as lust, not anger. She should have kicked him in the shin and stuck her tongue out. She should have turned and ran.

She sighed. She should have gone to Harvard.

* * *


	2. tess of the d'urbervilles nearly ruined

Title: tess of the d'urbervilles nearly ruined me  
Prompt: 002. middles  
Word Count: 581  
Rating: K+  
Summary: Rory and Logan are not good at being tourists.  
Author's Notes: Spoilers for Tess of the d'Urbervilles, if you haven't read it. I really don't think you're missing anything -- Rory's prejudices are my own.

* * *

002. tess of the d'urbervilles nearly ruined me

"This, I did not expect," Rory murmured, shutting the car door. She braced her hands on her hips, surveying the seemingly endless green landscape. There was nothing for miles but disgustingly verdant nature, sullen grey skies, stones…and of course, highway roads.

"How could you not expect this? You knew we were coming here; you were excited when I suggested it as our next stop," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I just didn't expect…" She gesticulated wildly, her right hand moving in a drunken circular motion. For all he knew, she could be pointing at the burial mounds, the tour guides with their jaunt flags thrust in the air, or even at some children that looked to be making a breakaway into the English countryside.

"Use your words, Ace," he said, even as he propelled them forward to join the other tourists already walking on the neatly marked path.

"It's a lot less impressive that I imagined it to be. They're just…big rocks."

"Not rocks, Ace. _Stones_. Hence, _Stone_henge," he grinned. "And again, it was your idea to visit the World Heritage Sites. You had to know this was coming."

"For some reason, I thought there would be more," she frowned.

"What were you expecting? A strip mall on the horizon? A gift shop?"

Rory realized how silly she sounded and laughed in spite of herself. "At the very least, a gift shop. Or perhaps a sign that reads, 'Druids Were Here.' Or, 'Tess of the d'Urbervilles died here.' Either would serve."

"Tess didn't die here, Rory. She was arrested, which ultimately led to her execution, but she didn't die here. What kind of self-respecting bookworm doesn't know that?"

"Details. I'm a self-respecting bookworm that counts herself lucky for even getting through that ridiculous piece of so-called literature. Tess of the d'Urbervilles nearly ruined me for all books. I'm not kidding. I almost gave up reading at age six."

"Six? Aren't the themes of that book a little mature for an infant?"

"Six year-olds are not infants," she mumbled, barely giving the impressive monoliths more than a cursory glance. "And you're missing the point."

He chuckled. "Pray tell, what is the point?"

"The point is: we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Wiltshire isn't the middle of nowhere. It's two miles west of Amesbury, where, you'll recall, we grabbed some perfectly respectable takeaway," he winked, holding aloft a bag she knew to hold Tandoori chicken and aloo gobi.

At the mention of lunch, she felt herself perk up. There was nothing that food couldn't fix. "I think we've seen enough, don't you? Let's eat."

"Whatever my lady desires," he muttered as she dragged him over to the nearest bench, Stonehenge forgotten in lieu of the promise of sustenance.

Rory was chewing a mouthful of Basmati and cauliflower when her eyes lit up. "Wiltshire!"

"Yes, we're in Wiltshire, off the A344 if you care to be precise."

"The Malfoys live in Wiltshire!"

Logan bit back a smile. "We're not going to go looking for the home of a fictitious family."

"Fiction comes from some fact, Huntzberger."

"So you propose that we what? Go hunting for a private home lined with yew trees with white peacocks roaming the grounds?"

Rory's eyes took on a hopeful expression that had him wishing he hadn't teased her in that particular fashion. She would not take his detailed reference not as jest but as equally avid interest that was worth pursuing. He should know better by now. "Can we?"

* * *


	3. talking shapes

Title: talking shapes

Prompt: 042. triangles

Word Count: 1000

Rating: K+

Summary: Rory spoils a day at the beach with talk of triangles.

Author's note: You're likely to see me throwing these two in random locations a lot. And since I'm contemplating a trip to Costa Rica, here we are. And thanks to those that reviewed the last two chapters! Ya'll are beyond kind for indulging my whims by reading. Cheers!

* * *

"Do you ever wonder about us?"

It occurred to him that she was posing a vague question, but it was likely that she was expecting a specific answer. "Wonder about what in particular?"

She took time framing her question, choosing instead to poke at the arm he had so considerately offered up as a pillow for her. He, in turn, chose to ignore her pointy fingers and instead focus on burrowing his right foot into the sand.

"You're going to call me crazy."

"I'm not going to call you crazy," he assured.

"You say that, but you don't mean that."

His eyes were closed, but he still lifted a brow. It was silly to forego facial expressions just because one couldn't see the other person's reaction. And even though they'd agreed to a nap, Rory was almost certainly staring at him.

"Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?" he asked. "Besides, at the speed we exchange ripostes it leaves little room for prevarication."

"Hmm."

"Say it," he sighed, absently nudging her with his hip.

"Do you ever wonder…why it was so easy for us to…you know…become _us_?"

"What?"

"To become a couple, to fall in love, to be where we are now?"

"Easy?" he asked. "There was nothing easy about us becoming a couple, Ace. If you'll recall, it was touch and go for a while there. And are you forgetting how many times we've broken up?"

"We only _seriously_ broke up two or three times," she murmured. "But all things considered, it was rather simple…"

"Being threatened by both Luke and Christopher upon our first meeting, Founder's-Day-punch-induced confrontations, my parents, a stolen boat, jail time, hospital time, the first break up, the long-distance relationship, the ex-boyfriend…" He was prepared to keep on listing the myriad of obstacles (big and small) that they'd encountered, but Rory interrupted him rather effectively by muffling his mouth with her hand.

"Pause. Right there. Ex-boyfriend."

Logan gently pried her fingers away from his lips. "Yes, the emo pseudo-writer."

He could practically _hear_ her frowning. "He was published."

"Did anyone other than you and Luke buy copies?"

"You're missing the point."

"Then by all means, elaborate."

"You don't like Jess," she pointed out.

"We'll never be best friends, but I think we understand one another," Logan said.

"You're rarely in the same room at the same time."

"Like I said, we understand one another."

"That's the point: you two almost get along. I'd go as far as to say that you may have been friends if you'd met under different circumstances."

There were any number of things that could have said in retort, but Logan swallowed at least half of them. He wanted to tell her to let it go; they were in Papagayo, in paradise, on a beach (just like she wanted)…couldn't she just enjoy their mini-holiday? But he was the one who told her to ask her question. It was only right that he be forced to endure her circular logic and questioning.

"I would hardly call it getting along. I'm fairly certain that we're equally insufferable and annoyingly confident. That doesn't make for easy conversation," Logan reasoned.

"Yes, but we were never a proper triangle, were we?"

He opened his eyes slowly and turned his head to regard his girlfriend. Sure enough, Rory was blinking up at him with a look that was equal parts annoyance and curiosity. Perhaps she had wanted him to open his peepers sooner than he did.

"Come again?"

Once she saw that she had his attention, Rory rolled onto her side and propped herself up on his chest. Her pointy chin was digging…_comfortably_…into his left pectoral, her eyes now cast faraway. "Well, I've just been thinking about the people around us, Logan. And everyone else, on their path to Happily Ever After and their great romance, seems to have had to deal with a triangle."

Logan's brow was firmly furrowed. "No they haven't."

She made a noise that plainly told him she thought his memory was crap. "Yes, they have. It's a classic trope for a reason, Logan. _Everyone_ experiences a triangle."

"Name one."

"Mom and Luke and Dad, for one."

"Untrue. You told me that Christopher had no chance with your mother, that their ship had sailed long ago. For a triangle to be true, Lorelai's constancy towards Luke would have been in question. Try again."

"Finn and Isabelle and Margot."

He snorted. "Scraping the barrel there, aren't you? Finn is automatically excluded because he will never love anyone better than he loves himself…"

"One could say the same about you," she sniped.

"…and, _and_, in that particular case, Margot was definitely doing it more to spite Tristan than anything else."

"Hmm."

"Yes. Try again, if you dare."

Rory opened her mouth as if to flay him with another retort, but thought better. She finally spoke after a minute, but it was hardly helpful to her argument: "Have there really been none? Then why is it so damn popular in novels?"

"Life is a lot more boring than fiction, Rory," he said, squeezing her hip. "And honestly, who has time for all those emotions? I firmly stand behind the validity of my non-relationship practice…"

"Hey!"

"…before I met you."

She smiled then, with a warmth that rivaled the Costa Rican sun. Look at him being maudlin. "You _can_ be cute," she murmured.

"Yes, very cute. Cute and rational…which are two words that do not describe a triangle. Wouldn't you rather have cute and rational?"

"I suppose, but triangles are classic, and I can't help but think that we're missing out." Rory was grinning, so he was fairly sure that she was kidding. He hoped that she was kidding.

"Don't get any funny ideas, Ace."

"Define _funny_."

"No triangles. If we're talking shapes, I really much prefer circles."

Blue eyes became alert, read through his barely-veiled statement. "Circles?"

Logan thought of the ring in his pocket. "Yes, Ace, circles. They're charming, don't you think?"


	4. different circles

Title: different circles

Prompt: 044. circle

Rating: K+

Summary: A conversation post-disastrous party.

Author's Note: Dudes, I totally should have used this prompt to follow-up the last story, but I had to make things more difficult for myself. Besides, that's what the 'diamond' prompt is for, no? Anyhow, thank you guys for reading and reviewing. Your comments make my day. And to answer some questions/comments – I too wish that there were more of the small moments between this couple on the show, but the writers seem to be set on a path and barreled down it in the last two seasons. Odd. And Jenna, I don't have any favorite Rogan stories that I can recall off the top of my head, actually. I've added some favorite Rory/Tristan stories from days of yore (a pairing I take as the predecessor to Rogan), oh! And one Rogan. It's been a while since I've been a reader, and I'm still playing catch-up. Anyhow, onward and forward!

* * *

Logan found her on the balcony hugging a bottle of Malbec. She was cradling it against her chest as though it were a newborn and not simply a particularly good Argentine wine. He dropped a kiss on her temple and took the chair on her right.

"Everyone's gone?" she asked.

"Colin, Finn and Javier are still finishing off the last of the canapés and putting a dent in my reserve of whisky, but everyone else has cleared out. I figured it was better to let them have at it so we don't have to worry about wrapping it all up, since you insisted that we not use a caterer."

"Oh, that's good," she slurred, putting the half-empty bottle to her lips.

He frowned. "Hey Ace, you okay there?"

"I'm fine, or, I'll be fine. Just promise me that we'll never have to do this again."

"What? Have a cocktail party? But I thought you liked this sort of thing," he pointed out.

"I don't mind throwing them, but I never should have let you talk me into inviting _all_ of our friends," she grimaced.

"Why not? I thought it went well."

She snorted. "No, it emphatically did not. No one mingled. Even when we forced it, it was horrible. The awkwardness was awful. Our circles are too different, Logan. From now on, we invite one circle or the other, never both at the same time."

Rory looked pathetic and sad, but what could he say? She was right. Not that his friends noticed. Lord knows that they are blissfully ignorant of how uncomfortable they made people not firmly entrenched in their clique. Which was not to say that her friends weren't equally unapproachable, but now was not the time to tell her that. She needed consoling. She needed him to not be an ass.

"Whatever you want," he murmured, taking her free hand and squeezing it.

"What if this is a sign? What if this is The Powers That Be telling us that we're too different to be together? That my friends are too patronizing, and your friends are too self-involved? We're associate with different social circles for a reason, Huntzberger. You and I, we're ketchup and mustard."

"Ketchup and mustard are great together."

"No they're not. You either have one or the other, not both. What kind of hot dog heathen are you? Do I even know you?"

"That's completely tangential and not at all the point, Ace," he said, shaking his head. "Besides which, what does it matter that we're not friends with the same sort of people? Stop trying to find an excuse to break up with me again. You're not getting rid of me so easily, so just forget it."

She turned to face him, but did not pull her hand away. Instead, she started gesturing at him with the wine bottle, spilling what was left of the Malbec onto her (thankfully) black dress. "I'm not making up an excuse to break up with you, I'm just stating fact. Our friends don't get along. Our circles…they move in discrete planes," she whined.

"Discrete as in discrete mathematics, or discreet as in clandestine affairs?"

"Does it matter?"

He gave her a _look_.

"Math, Logan, math!" she exclaimed, but her eyes were no longer on him. "Our seating chart for the wedding is going to be hideously segregated. We can't have an indivisible number of guests on each side, because if we force them to sit at the same table, those people are going to be miserable. Just like tonight!"

Logan took the bottle before she could put it to her lips. "Okay, I think you've had enough of that. Let's get you to bed."

"But the guests," she complained.

Logan stood up and scooped her up into his arms – she was in a mood to rant and rave, but thankfully not in the mood to fight him. "Screw 'em. The boys can take care of themselves."

Still, she waved to them as they walked through the living room, muttering about curry puffs and over imbibing and guest rooms. She was distraught and drunk, but not an inconsiderate hostess.

"Rory, you just have to believe me when I say that you're overreacting."

"But…"

He shook his head and pressed on. "It doesn't matter if we move in different circles, and you're wrong, we're not on discrete planes."

He made it to their bedroom with little fuss, and deposited her on the mattress before kneeling beside her. Logan pressed her knuckles to his lips and gave her a pointed look, daring her to argue with him.

"But…seating…"

"People can deal at our wedding. Couples have been doing it since the beginning of time, what makes us any different? For once, we'll follow the status quo, even though I know how much you love being original," he whispered.

"Circles…"

"Yes, we move in different circles, but who says they need to have anything more in common than you and me?" he asked, making her smile, if tentatively.

"That's true."

"Yes, and since you started the math metaphor, I'm going to lay another one down on you."

"Really?"

"Yes, you ready? It's pretty corny one too. Try not to laugh, but you may appreciate it."

The shy smile became a full-on drunken grin, but she realized herself and sucked in her lips to stifle her glee. Rory Gilmore was composing herself. "I am. I won't. Go on."

"All right, here it goes," he chuckled, already embarrassed about what he was about to say. "You, Ace, and I, may move in different circles, but we are the common factors in each others' circles. Yes, we are the intersecting space in the Venn diagram of our lives. Just you and me. And when it all comes down to it, that's all that matters."

There was a moment of silence. It was a not a silence accorded something worthy of awe, but a silence born of disbelief and pity. Logan did not delude himself.

"I love you, Huntzberger," she said, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter.

"I love you, Ace."

"In fact I love you so much, that I'm only going to bring this up twice in the future," she promised. "That was beautiful."

"Ace…"

"It's a special talent you have there, really. It was pitch perfect corniness and nerdiness…"

Logan grabbed the pillow from under his fiancée's head and tried to smother her with it. He heard full-throated laughter from her then.

"…and cuteness and…"

"Never again," he said, standing up and taking the pillow with him.

"Oh, c'mon, keep talking! I'm still despondent! Compare our love to Euler's circle! To Aristotle's wheel paradox! To Lester's theorem! To Clifford's circle theorem!"

Logan tossed the pillow back at the bed before escaping the room and Rory's laughter.

* * *

* * *

End notes (not to be confused with endnotes): A Malbec is a tasty wine indeed. And Argentina has been pushing it hardcore for the past couple years. Also, all those mathematical theorems are very much real and have to do with circles. Ka-ching! And dudes, there is a difference between whisky, whiskey and bourbon. Believe it. There are people willing to assault you to make you understand.


	5. allowed to grieve

Prompt 030. Death

Title: allowed to grieve

Word Count: 1,230

Summary: What else is there to do for a prompt such as this but to kill off an ancillary character?

Author's Note: The lack of humor is unavoidable. I might have killed off an inanimate object, but no. A person it is. This is a weird direction for me, by the by. I try not to do angst…And forgive any mistakes. I scribbled this starting at 7:00 this morning. Oh, when inspiration strikes, it strikes quickly. Thank you guys for reading this and reviewing. You make me smile. Onward!

* * *

When he walked through the door, she almost cried out in relief. It wasn't easy to hold one's breath for two solid days, but Rory had done it. Or it seemed like it anyway.

She was just as likely to hug him as scream at him for his stupid disappearing act. In fact she was about to rail at him when she saw the person he carried with him. "Why is Finn unconscious in the middle of the afternoon?" she asked, walking towards him. As soon as she got within five feet of them, she jumped back. The scent of expensive single malt hung around them like a particularly potent perfume.

"You know how he is. He's never been good at holding his liquor. It's a shame since he's been practicing for so many years," Logan said, dropping his burden on the couch. Then, with a benign smile, he walked up to Rory and kissed her cheek. "Hello."

"Hello? Is that all you have to say?" she asked, sounding like a fishwife even to her own ears. It didn't matter; for his sake (so she told herself) she would barrel forward.

He shrugged with all the nonchalance in the world. "Good afternoon, then?"

"Logan, you've been gone for two days. You didn't answer a text, a call, an email, nothing. You disappeared."

"Hey, that's not true. I left you a message when I left," he argued, strolling towards the bedroom.

Rory followed in his wake. "I know you're not accountable to me, Logan, but I am the one that had to field calls from your family members, frantically asking me where you were. Honor has been calling practically every hour on the hour. Even your _grandfather_ called."

Logan appeared to ignore her as he stripped and went into the bathroom. She watched as he turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray.

Rory padded into the navy-tiled room and braced herself against the wall next to the shower, waiting for him to make up an excuse, to explain…anything. "Logan!"

He gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry that they've been bothering you Rory. I'll tell them to stop."

She shook her head. "This isn't about me. This is about you and your family. They need you."

"I'm sure my mother has everything in hand. I'm equally sure that there are any number of Huntzberger relatives crying their eyes out in every parlor of the house," he reasoned, lathering soap over his chest.

"Why are you acting like this? Mitchum…"

"Died. Yes, I know. I got the hysterical call from Mother. I saw the coverage on the news, read the obit in every one of our papers. I listened to every frantic message from all the charming members of my family." His hands stilled. His lips thinned into a grim line that slashed his face. In that instant, she saw Mitchum in Logan's expression.

Rory swallowed. "The funeral is tomorrow morning."

"I know," he nodded. "I think I'll pass."

"Logan, you can't. They expect you to show up. "

"Why? It isn't exactly a secret that we didn't get along. People will hardly be surprised if I fail to make an appearance," he laughed, his voice hollow. "I'm his disappointment, Ace. I'm the one that had all the potential to be a great news man, just like the old man, but fell short. Always fell short."

Rory examined his face; saw the redness that tinged his eyes, the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the weariness that weighed down every line and muscle of his body. She kicked off her slippers and walked up to him, flinching as the surprisingly cold water pelted her pale skin. She took each of his hands in her own and squeezed them tightly.

"You can care, Logan," she whispered.

He shook his fingers loose from her gasp, reaching behind her to turn the water to warm. "Don't be so sentimental, Ace. I know I can _care_, I just don't. Mitchum's dead. One man died. The world isn't going to spin off its axis."

"Stop acting like this isn't affecting you. He was your father."

They stood in silence for what seemed like hours, just staring at one another. Then she saw a muscle jump in his jaw. "We really should consider finishing up this shower. You've already ruined your dress, and I'm about to prune."

Rory felt the weight of two days of sleeplessness, two days of anxiety, two days of worrying for the man she was starting to love all over again. She wrenched the knob, effectively shutting off the stream of water. "Fine. Act like a child. Act like you don't care. _I_ don't care!" she screamed in his face, stepping out of the shower, almost slipping on the wet floor as she tried to storm away. She struggled to pull the dress over her head. "You're such a fucking idiot."

"I'm not like you, Rory! My family doesn't deal in warm fuzzy feelings and grand shows of emotion. _This_ is what we do," he said, pulling her to face him.

"What? Get drunk for two days? Scare the shit out of the people that love them? Really, Logan? Is it in the Huntzberger code of conduct?"

He glared at her. "What am I supposed to do, then? Go to the house and play the filial son? Cry? Bemoan the relationship that we should have had instead of the one we did have?"

"Yes! Exactly that! I don't care how much you want to pretend you don't care, Huntzberger, because I know that you do. You're allowed to grieve. You're allowed to be scared witless because you don't know what the world is going to be like without him in it."

Logan sighed. "A nicer place, that's for sure."

She frowned. "Logan…"

He released her, shaking his head. "I'm allowed to not know how to react, Rory. Life isn't black and white," he murmured. "I'm sorry I scared you, but this…this is the only way I know how to be."

Rory reached up to touch his cheek, asking him to meet her eyes. In that moment she felt despair, not for the man that passed, but the man who stood before her: unyielding in his resolve, unable to crystallize his feelings, unwilling to cry. She realized that there was nothing she could do to force his hand. She had never lost a parent, never even lost anyone close to her. Selfishly, she was glad.

"You look like hell," she sighed, and was gratified to see some of the tension leave his face.

"Don't sugarcoat it, Ace. Tell me how you really feel."

"Are you hungry? Can I make you a pop tart?"

Logan seemed to sigh with his whole body, likely relieved that she'd given up badgering him. He pulled her into a hug, a tangle of cold, wet limbs. "That sounds good."

"And maybe I'll order some Chinese takeout."

She felt his lips on her shoulder. "Yes. Lo mein, please. And maybe some dumplings."

"Right. And perhaps we should put some clothes on. Wouldn't want to scare Finn on the off-chance he wakes up."

"What would I do without you?"

"Starve in the shower? I suppose that's why you keep me around: to keep you fed and dry."

Logan pulled back, then brushed a kiss on her forehead. "Exactly. Thank you, Ace."

* * *


	6. in a different life

Prompt: 025. strangers

Title: in a different life

Word Count: 285

Summary: Their first run-in post-breakup (number two!) allows Rory to realize something.

Author's Note: I'm trying second person-ish. We'll see if this is crash and burn. Thanks again to everyone following this (especially those that review... Keep me grounded, ya'll). Yeah, I just updated the summary because I realized that Rory and Logan broke-up once prior to the proposal in season seven. I'm a dumb-dumb.

* * *

When she sees him at the wedding, she is surprised. It is the first time she's seen him in two, no, three years, and he looks virtually unchanged. There are still laugh wrinkles that frame his brown eyes. His smile is still firmly affixed, daring anyone in his radius not to smile with him. He looks comfortable in his tailored suit, with a flute of champagne cradled in his palm.

She doesn't know whether to slip away before he sees her, or approach him first before he calls her a coward. Their relationship ended amicably in her mind, but one never knows with ex-lovers.

The choice is taken away from her when she is swept up into the arms of an acquaintance. It is Annabelle Waters, a familiar ally during these society weddings that her grandparents force her to attend. In the past they have sat side by side, observing and laughing and dancing.

As they exchange pleasantries, Annabelle is pulling her forward to meet her date. Of course it is Him. Who else would it be?

Annabelle doesn't know their past, doesn't know what they are to one another. And so she makes the introductions and asks him if they know one another. It is a simple question, but a question that causes them both to falter, to wait for the other to speak.

No, he answers, making her insides harden to lead. Her pleasant smile slips only a fraction, but it's enough to let him know that the single syllable he utters has done injury.

She realizes that he has chosen. In a different life they were lovers, friends, partners in crime, colleagues, and more. In this life, they are to be strangers.


	7. a purple dress

Prompt: 016. Purple

Title: a purple dress

Word Count: 1129

Summary: They're still at the wedding, and Logan is finding Rory hard to ignore.

Author's Note: Yeah, I couldn't leave 'in a different life' alone. It's all along the same time line, right? This also means that I have a follow-up piece to this part. Ah, for those that were confused, this is the first time they're seeing each other after Rory turned Logan down in the last season. I've jumped backwards in time. Bear with me?

* * *

Logan knew he shouldn't have come to the wedding. He didn't have to cater to Annabelle's whims, even if she was an old childhood friend. But something had compelled him, and now he was paying the price for being curious.

She was in a purple dress. Perhaps it was called something else – surely 'purple' was too pedestrian for women – but it didn't bear thinking. Because if he thought about it, he'd start comparing it to the color of delphinium or irises, and comparison to flowers was not a good sign.

No, she was simply in a purple dress. A purple dress that wasn't like the lavender-colored shifts the bridesmaids wore. A purple dress that was tailored and stylish and looked nothing like Rory Gilmore. A purple dress that kept on drawing his eye in a way that threatened to make mincemeat of years of self-control.

He wanted to touch to her.

When Annabelle dragged Rory over, his brain turned to inelegant mush. Part of him questioned why he hadn't noticed her until that moment. Another part worked frantically to pick the right words to say to her after three years of silence. And yet another part remembered that she had turned him down flat. It was that part that caused him to falter and say what he did.

Rory had barely reacted, but it was enough to let him know that she was not unaffected by his denial. He had to know that she would. Two years of being in a relationship with her had its impact: Logan still knew how to do damage.

He longed to be closer to her.

How easy it was to call them strangers. It was practically true. He didn't know her, she didn't know him. Logan made it a point to avoid all talk of her. All or nothing. She'd used the words, and he made them true. So for two years he'd stayed on the West Coast. For two years he'd eschewed all social functions that might have included her. But Honor had convinced him that he was being stupid and irrational; if he was going to avoid Hartford it should be for something normal, like their father, not for a girl.

The gentleman knew he'd acted reprehensibly. The Huntzberger in him told him that he'd already burned that bridge so there was nothing worth salvaging. The ex-boyfriend felt spitefully justified. She rejected him, so it was his right to sulk and play the injured party.

He needed to speak to her.

"Quit staring, Logan; it's rude," she laughed, poking him in the side.

"I'm not staring," he mumbled. "In fact, I don't know what you're talking about. How could I look at any other woman when the most interesting one is right by my side?"

"Thank goodness you didn't say beautiful, or I would have accused you of being too trite for words," Annabelle smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not offended. Rory is carrying off that blue Givenchy like a fucking goddess."

"It's purple, not blue," he muttered. Logan knew his mistake as the words came out, but was helpless to stop the word vomit.

Annabelle chuckled. "Seriously, you should go talk to her. Rory's a good girl, so she'd normally have nothing to do with the likes of you…but she may make an exception."

"I don't think so."

"Is that fear I hear in your voice? Logan Huntzberger…"

She was giving him an out, so why wasn't he walking? "Annabelle…"

"What? Are you telling me you don't think she's hot in her killer blue frock?"

"It's still purple, and of course she looks good," he said, casting his eyes wistfully—_damnit!_—in Rory's direction. "But I can't."

"Give me one good reason," she prodded.

Logan leveled a quizzical gaze on his friend. "How well do you know Rory Gilmore?"

She shrugged. "Not very. We see each other at weddings, garden teas, the occasional art exhibit. We know enough to trust each other with sarcastic comments and the task of getting drink orders correct. Why?"

"Rory and I have history," he sighed.

"You said you didn't know her."

"I know."

"She didn't correct you."

"History and my idiocy forced her hand," Logan admitted.

"Why don't I know any of this?"

"Well you weren't stateside for the better part of this decade, were you? It's natural that you'd miss the gossip."

Annabelle's eyebrow shot up. "Oh. So it was good enough to warrant gossip?"

"It was."

She allowed a couple beats of silence. "Well then you have to go."

"I don't think so."

"Logan…"

He furrowed his brow. "I'm not going to be browbeaten, not even by you, Waters."

"She's looking this way."

His eyes shot in Rory's direction, but Annabelle was lying. "No she's not."

"She might as well be. Her body language is as good as screaming how hard she's trying _not_ to look. I don't need to be her best friend to tell you that, just a human being with eyes."

Logan tried to see what Annabelle was talking about, but he saw nothing. He didn't know whether to tell his friend that she had a fertile imagination, or to wonder if it was his self-doubt that was clouding his perception. As far as he could tell Rory was fully focused on the person she was chatting with; he could not have figured less into how she was acting.

"I'm sure your heart is in the right place, Annabelle, but I don't think I want to play out this particular drama here," he said, finishing off his champagne.

"You're being a coward, and you're not fun," she pouted.

"There's no need to cast aspersions. And I offered to dance with you, didn't I?" he asked innocently.

She got to her feet, allowing a bright smile to spread across her face. "Yes you did. I suppose the least you can do is partner me when you deny me fun gossip."

Logan took her small hand in his and led her to the dance floor. "I make for a better dance partner than gossip fodder."

The sound of her disbelief rang in his ears. "Unlikely."

"I kid you not. We were an incredibly typical couple," he said, turning her in a circle.

"Not you. Come to think of it, I didn't even know that you knew how to date monogamously," she frowned.

"I don't. She was…the exception to the rule," he sighed.

Annabelle observed an unusual moment of silence, choosing instead to stare up at him. Uncomfortably. "You still love her, huh?"

Logan did not hesitate to nod. "Probably."

"You really should consider talking to her."

"Yes."

"You're still not going to, are you?"

"No."

She snorted. "You're such an idiot."

He caught a flash of purple in his periphery. "Undoubtedly."

* * *

Note: Okay, I may have inadvertently lied to some of you in my responses. I meant to have the next piece follow this one with them still at the wedding, but I'm not so sure now. What I am sure of? The next piece will have them interacting, and significantly less annoyingly sad.


	8. just right

Prompt: 033. Too Much.

Title: just right

Word Count: 1,093

Summary: He wanted too much. She couldn't give enough.

Author's Note: And we have the end of the wedding string of stories. I'm such a sucker for fluff. Ah well, let the reconciliation begin. (PS, I usually write these notes prior to writing the story, so keep that in mind if the words don't match the note.)

* * *

She had been tempted to leave, to go home and recap the night to Lane over the phone while shoveling green tea ice cream into her mouth. Instead, she waited, watched as Logan left the ballroom and strolled outside, bottle of champagne in hand. Expectedly, the memory of her grandparents' vow renewal came to mind. She almost felt giddy as she followed him outside to the pool, almost like she did back then: a too-bold kid wanting nothing more than to catch the attention of the most handsome boy in the room.

He took a seat on one of the teak chaises and closed his eyes. "You're the worst stalker ever, you know that?"

"The shoes made noise, huh? I'll have to start bringing slippers in my purse just for stalking purposes," she sighed, walking (clickity-clacking) to stand in front of his reclined form.

"What are you doing here, Ace?"

She rolled her eyes and gingerly sat down on the chaise beside him. "So it's Ace now, is it? Is that what you call all strangers?"

"We both know I'm an idiot…"

"And a complete jerk for avoiding me after you pulled that stunt," she added, easing herself into a reclining position.

"Fair enough," he said, allowing his eyes to slowly open. He smiled then, that easy smile that always tickled her heart. "So what, are you here to chew me out now?"

"Yes."

Logan's right brow shot up. "Really? Well let's hear it then."

"Um, well, I can't say I was really prepared with anything beyond the jerk thing," she admitted. "Give me a minute, and maybe I can think of something better."

"You can have all the time you need. Or perhaps we can agree to skip the whole thing," he suggested.

"Skip a lecture? I don't know if that's fair."

He put his hand up. "Feel free to retell it however you like, but perhaps you'll save us both a headache for now. I'm giving you more time to be creative, really."

Rory smiled at the vast night's sky. "Awfully considerate of you."

"It's the least I could do," he sighed, and his attention seemed to shift away from her.

She let the silence lengthen, deliberating over the wisdom of her next words. But she said them anyway. "Why did you say it? Why did you say you didn't know me? I know you plea idiocy, but you've got to give me something better than that."

For a moment, she was afraid that he wouldn't answer. "You chose nothing."

"What?"

"You asked me if it had to be all or nothing. I said yes. You chose 'nothing'."

She furrowed her brow, following his logic. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I asked you to marry me, Rory, and you refused. When you said no, when you chose 'nothing', you told me that you wanted to forget us."

"That's not it at all. I still loved you," she told him, not shying from her feeling. "I just wasn't ready for marriage. It was…too much. You wanted too much."

Yes, it _had_ been too much. Too much of the Huntzberger family looming in her future. Too much of the lifestyle she'd nearly suffocated under just the year before. Too much commitment. Too much of him to ask of a 22 year-old Rory Gilmore.

The minutes ticked by as she waited for him to speak. A slideshow of their relationship flashed through her head, and it occurred to her that there were very few moments that she could call true highlights. Compared to Dean who shared any number of firsts with her, compared to Jess whose presence in her life seemed to be one angst-charged moment after another, her romance with the textbook playboy Logan seemed all too regular. Then why was it him she always remembered with a fond smile?

His next words were said with care, clear enough for her to hear his pain. "I wanted you."

How was she meant to answer that? Was there even an adequate answer? Would she have been better off avoiding him? There had to be a reason why people didn't talk to ex-boyfriends, let alone ex-boyfriends that loved you enough to propose.

"You might have compromised, you know."

"I suppose," he said softly. "You might have asked for a long engagement."

"I suppose," she agreed.

She felt awful. She shouldn't have come outside. Instead of simply feeling annoyed with him for being an ass, she felt sadness for what she had lost. Logan had asked too much of her back then, but she had given just as little thought to the depth of his emotions.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'm sorry too."

Rory bit down on her lower lip. "Do you think there's a way for us to be friends again? I kind of miss your particular brand of arrogance, Huntzberger."

He chuckled. "I hope that wasn't meant to be a compliment."

It was unnerving how easy it was to fall back into a pattern of flirtation with him. "Of course it is."

"Are you seeing anyone, Ace?"

She shook her head, then realized that he couldn't see her in the dark. "I don't see how that's relevant." There was no harm in being a bit vague.

"It's relevant because I don't think I could just be friends with you," he admitted. "You're my Achilles heel, Rory. With you, I'll always want too much."

"Logan…"

"Don't think I don't see the irony in this. I distinctly remember you saying something very similar to me once, with charming octagons imprinted on your face."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Not the brightest day in my personal history."

"I don't know about that. You got me to commit, didn't you?"

Rory felt a flush of warmth in her chest. Nostalgia always felt like perfect balance of wistfulness and happiness, and it managed to stir another memory. "When I told Paris she said I'd landed the whale."

"Charming."

For a moment she felt like she was with any other friend, reminiscing about the good old college days. And then she remembered that it wasn't just anyone, it was Logan.

She cleared her throat. "There isn't anyone."

"I see."

"Indeed."

It was Logan's turn to clear his throat. "Then perhaps you'll let me take you out to grab a cup of coffee some time? You know, to apologize properly for being as idiot tonight."

"Well, I guess it's the least you can do."

"Is it too little? Should we do dinner instead?"

"No, coffee is perfect. It's just right."

* * *

Okay, that wasn't excessively fluffy, but you could tell it was happy, yeah? I'm happy anyway. I can move onto another prompt now. Huzzah!


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